Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything related. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this xD
Sherlock fell into John's chair.
John's chair...
John...
The pain was enough to pull out a surprised cry from Sherlock, but it wasn't enough to bring Sherlock out of his... What was it? Shock? Grief?
"What the hell is wrong with you, you bloody idiot?!" Lestrade continued to scream at Sherlock even though he knew that the detective wasn't listening. Punching Sherlock in the face had made his anger start to ebb, but it still hadn't left. "John is in the fucking ER because of you! Now tell me what the fuck was going through your head!"
Sherlock slowly put his hand up to his bleeding cheek, then brought it back down to see the dark red liquid coating his palm. The pain did not phase him. Sherlock couldn't think of anything other than 'John... John... Please, god. John...'
Sherlock immediately stood up and in a few leaps he had gotten past Lestrade, making his way down the stairs. Lestrade grabbed Sherlock's torn collar to keep him from reaching the front door. Lestrade blocked the door and stared daggers at Sherlock. 'Tell. Me.' Lestrade demanded, 'I'll not let you out of this flat until you give me every detail. The armed police outside won't allow it either. Now sit the fuck down and talk. What happened back there?' Lestrade was practically spitting at Sherlock.
This side of Lestrade, Sherlock had never seen before. It was disconcerting. But so was Sherlock's reaction to the 'accident'. After Sherlock tried to strangle anyone trying to get anywhere near John. Lestrade had to practically wrestle sherlock away from him. Was he trying to have John killed? Nobody had ever seen Sherlock do this before. Never, not to anyone. Sherlock's eyes darkened, but he sighed and slowly walked back up the stairs, eyes darting back and forth, trying to find a way out, around Lestrade and the other officers, to the hospital. He wanted to see John. No, He needed to see John. But Sherlock couldn't see anyway past them. If he had managed to get to John they would never let him see John ever again.
Sherlock curled into a ball in John's chair, rubbing his non-bloodied hand over the fabric, imagining John sitting there instead of him. 'Is he...?' Sherlock only could manage that much. 'He'll be fine... If you stay away. I'll make sure of it, until you tell me what happened, you'll not see him.' Lestrade quietly told Sherlock.
Sherlock's mind was always spinning, always on hard drive, thinking, rushing, but now Sherlock felt nothing. Nothing was there. John wasn't there. John was everything. But if Sherlock hadn't waited John would have been NOTHING.
'Talk!' Lestrade ordered Sherlock. Sherlock was bolt, up right. 'ABOUT WHAT?!' Sherlock cried, 'How brainless are you?!' Lestrade slowly walked to Sherlock's chair and sat down opposite of John's chair which Sherlock was in, and leaned in towards Sherlock. 'Just tell me what happened.' Lestrade spoke soothingly, hoping that if Sherlock was calm he would tell him how John had ended up on the floor, just minutes from death, and why he wouldn't let the paramedics help.
Sherlock decided to believe Lestrade's threats. Lestrade knew that Sherlock wouldn't go into detail, but encouraged Sherlock anyway. 'When I got into the lecture hall Thomson was sitting on top of John... Keeping down his arms with his knees so that John couldn't get away.' Sherlock whispered. He was still so shaken up by the encounter with Thomson. 'Go on, Sherlock.' Lestrade urged. Sherlock took a deep breath and steadied himself. 'Thomson forced John to swallow the pill. It was a fast acting poison. I wrestled Thomson away from John. I punched his sternum then proceeded to strike his temple, giving a mild concussion.' Sherlock rolls his eyes, 'can't be bothered by that.' He grumbled. 'I searched his pockets but the bastard had hid the antidote. The poison was simple but... It was taking affect over John...' Lestrade still didn't understand. Sherlock was talking faster and faster, clearly he wanted nothing more than to get this over with and see John. 'I searched the desk and found some chemicals, all but a few were completely worthless. I crushed some...' Sherlock cleared his throat, '...pills... To slow it down. Crushing them was easier,' he had fed, before he continued. 'I gave him more pills. Then I used a syringe for the chemicals, if he'd ingested them he would have died immediately. I forced him to take them... They started to work, but he was having a reaction to one of them... It would have taken over him if I let you touch him. We had to wait. The toxins were being killed. If they had taken him away from me his stomach would have been pumped. Everything I did would have been undone and John would have died right there on the floor.' Sherlock looked straight at Lestrade. 'Then you came...' Sherlock said, his voice was low and dangerous. 'You took him from me!'
Lestrade understood now. When they took John, Sherlock was still fighting them, they were going to pump his stomach right there, had Sherlock not broken the machine and scattered all their pills. He was trying to save him when Sherlock tried to take John away from the doctors. Lestrade had to wrestle Sherlock away.
Lestrade called Mycroft to send a car and told Donavan not to stop Sherlock from leaving the flat, ignoring her and Anderson's protests.
Sherlock leapt out of the chair, grabbed his coat, just a few strides, (thanks to his long legs), took him down the stairs and to the door, Lestrade close behind. Lestrade didn't stop Sherlock as he ripped the door open and walked out onto the street. They scrambled into the car that Mycroft had sent with the always texting Anthea. Lestrade tried to sooth Sherlock by saying things like 'he's alright,' or 'John's a soldier. He'll be fine,' but he knew that Sherlock wasn't listening. Sherlock sat in the car, unmoving, barely even breathing. (It's just so boring)! When they got to the hospital Sherlock was crazed and sprinting, trying to find John. Lestrade, who wasn't going on a mad dash, like sherlock, went straight to the front desk to ask about John. Sherlock stopped and ran to Lestrade as he turned away from the desk. It startled Lestrade to see Sherlock looking as mad as he did in the lobby. Sherlock's face was flushed, his hair messy, and his coat was hanging off of one shoulder from his running around. 'Where is he?' Sherlock demanded. 'Third floor, room 152.' Lestrade patiently said. Sherlock spun around, his coat flying behind him, and sprinted down the hall and turned the corner.
It was welcoming to John, but a bit odd to wake up to a disheveled Sherlock sitting next to his hospital bed. 'Hey, Sherlock.' John chuckled as he opened his eyes to see the odd sight that was his best mate, Sherlock. 'Are you alright, John?' Oh god, please be alright, Sherlock thought to himself as he grabbed john's hand, keeping in mind the many IV's in John's wrist. Sherlock brought John's hand to his lips and gave it a small kiss. 'Sherlock... What are you...?' John tried to ask, but Sherlock cut him off. 'John, stop talking. I need to think.' John sighed, and closed his eyes, still allowing Sherlock to hold onto his hand.
'I hate you.' Sherlock whispered, just barely loud enough for John to hear. John's eyes flew open to stare at Sherlock. 'Me? What did I do to you?' Sherlock did nothing, sitting stock still, staring right bak at John. Finally he closed his eyes and said, 'You almost left me.' Sherlock never thought he'd be saying that... It wasn't logical to feel this way towards his best friend. Sherlock only thinks logically and rationally. John's the one who is irrational! Sherlock thought to himself. I need a patch... 'Sherlock. You saved me, you've never been wrong before, so why the hell would you think that this time would be any different?' John was so confused. Sherlock had never shown normal human emotions, like fear, and he had never touched John, (or anyone else for that matter), unless it was absolutely necessary, not that this kind of touch was unwelcome. What is going on?! John asked himself. Sherlock leaned in towards John, not thinking about what he was doing. Sherlock looked into John's hand, then back up at John. They were about two inches apart. Then Sherlock closed his eyes and quickly closed the awful gap between them, their lips finally meeting. John, unaware of what was happening, was completely startled by the feeling of Sherlock's warm lips on top if his. John liked it though. He liked Sherlock. Even though he'd never thought of anything happening between them farther than their friendship. John finally responded. He put his hand in Sherlock's curly hair and forced him closer. Sherlock gasped and deepened the kiss. Sherlocks tongue lightly traced John's lips. John opened his mouth under sherlock's touch and followed his lead. Touching lips and tongues. The touch was warm and soft and like a lightning connection, surging between the two. Sherlock grabbed the back of John's neck and put the other on his chest. Between kisses Sherlock would whisper 'never leave me' and every time the kiss became more heated. Sherlock slid his hand down John's chest and back up. He wanted him so bad. He'd never wanted anyone other than John. Sherlock stood up, but never broke the oxygen missing kiss. He leaned down over John and made him lay his head back on the pillow so that Sherlock could get at a better angle. John put both hands on Sherlock and grabbed his hair, pulling him down, making their bodies press together. Sherlock pressed down on John with his left hand and propped himself up over John with his right elbow, holding onto John's arm to keep him there. John's tongue in his mouth was the greatest feeling he'd ever experienced. It was as exhilarating as a difficult case. Maybe he should poison John more often. John thought the same thing, (about the kiss, the KISS)!
It took a while, but John finally willed himself to let go of Sherlock. Sherlock reluctantly let John go. Lestrade wanted John's statement and the nurses still wanted to check up. Sherlock sighed and left the room.
John smiled to himself when Lestrade complained about how long it took for Sherlock to leave. Apparently he hadn't realized what had just happened when Sherlock was in the room with John. John just couldn't wait to get back to 221b.
A/N: I realise that Scotland yard wouldn't have armed police outside 221b in such a mild case such as this, but let's just make this a bit more interesting shall we? Anyway, I would also like to point out that Mycroft was the reason why Sherlock was able to see John at all. If it hasn't been for him then Sherlock wouldn't be allowed to see John because he is not family... (Yet :D). Thanks, Mycroft!